Safe travels, (don't die)
by Bookjunk
Summary: Something relatively fluffy. Future fic. Quinn/Carrie


**Safe travels, (don't die)**

She kisses him at home. By the back door. They aren't even on their way yet, so Peter looks at her funny.

'What? I can't kiss you?' she teases, obviously tickled by his bemused expression. She wipes his cheek with the sleeve of her sweater. It is a strangely maternal gesture.

'Of course you can,' Peter admits.

'Okay. No need to be such a spaz about it.'

He stares after her as she walks down the driveway towards the car. Will he ever get used to how at ease she is around him? All signs point to no.

(***)

She kisses him again at the airport. Smack dab on his mouth. It takes him completely by surprise. She actually laughs this time.

'You should see your face!' she says, delighted. Peter wonders whether he should talk about boundaries and decides not to. She'd probably only laugh at him.

'Have you got everything?' she asks. She eyes his luggage. It's not in there, he almost says. A suitable weapon will be provided for him when he reaches his destination. They look at each other; she smiling; he awkward. She opens her arms wide and gives him a hug.

'Be safe,' she impresses upon him, briefly burying her face in the shoulder of his jacket.

'Always,' he answers. She lets go of him then, reluctantly.

'Call me when you're back. I'll come pick you up,' she offers. She makes him promise.

(***)

On the plane, Peter turns his thoughts towards the impending operation. He goes over the plan a dozen times. In and out. Deceptively simple.

(***)

Someone must have talked, because they are waiting for him. He manages to make it out alive, but barely. Shot for the umpteenth time. It gets old. Really, it does. The pain doesn't, though. He fears septic shock, like the last time. Pumps himself full of antibiotics and hopes for the best. He has a dream about dying. Knows that he can't. She told him to be safe and that means _don't die_ , so dying is not an option.

(***)

It takes him about a month to recover somewhat. He isn't fit yet – nowhere near it - but he wants to get home. He worries about her worrying about him. His dressing remains dry during the flight, which is a relief. He calls from the airport, like he promised.

She's crying when he sees her. Angry tears. She's furious.

'You said one week!' she accuses, clearly aching to punch him. He mentally rejects a couple of too revealing responses and settles for a cryptic one.

'Something went wrong.'

She starts to cry in earnest and launches herself at him; throwing herself into his arms. He winces.

'I never know if you'll return,' she points out. That's how life works, Peter thinks, but doesn't say. Yes, that is true. No, that isn't fair. People with normal jobs have a much better chance of coming back. Not for the first time he considers that maybe it is time to quit. This time, however, he feels like it might just stick.

'I've got a surprise for you, by the way,' she announces, linking arms with him. Peter hopes it is what he thinks it is. He also hopes that she can't see how difficult it is for him to keep up with her.

'Mom's parking the car. She couldn't wait to see you either.'

The pain doesn't suddenly vanish, but it does seem to matter a lot less. Naturally, that is the moment she chooses to notice how stiffly he is moving.

'You're hurt? Give me your suitcase,' she orders. She practically rips it out of his hand and slows her pace to accommodate him. He's glad, though he is counting the seconds until they're outside. Peter spots her immediately.

'Hi Carrie,' he says, subdued. Frannie rolls her eyes.

'Well, go on and kiss her. I know you want to.'

'Well, go on,' Carrie challenges him, smiling. He shrugs and, ignoring the pain in his abdomen, backs her up against the car. It feels like the first time. Somehow it always feels like the first time with Carrie. The fact that they're forever stopping and starting over might have something to do with that. He brushes her hair back and goes in for another kiss. Carrie hums, happily.

'Yeah, yeah, that's enough of that,' Frannie declares. Giddy like teenagers, they break apart and grin at each other.

'I'll ride in the back and pretend that I've got a chauffeur and a bodyguard,' Frannie decides out loud. They obey. Carrie slides into the driver's seat while Peter walks around to the other side of the vehicle.

'You're home?' he asks.

'I came when Franny called. Not a lot I could do from Berlin,' Carrie explains. She watches him lower himself gently into the passenger's seat and frowns.

'You're wounded?' she whispers while Frannie is busy putting his suitcase in the trunk. He nods, but hastens to reassure her.

'It's nothing.'

'Did you go to the hospital?' she inquires, sounding concerned. He takes her hand and kisses her palm. That seems to calm her down.

'Carrie, I'm fine. Let's go home.'

The end.


End file.
